The Real Mycroft Holmes
by CretianStar
Summary: SPOILERS FOR SERIES 4 - The Final Problem. Don't read if you haven't watched... A perspective on Mycroft in the culmination to the fourth series. Slight Mystrade, slightly not.


A/N: Two in one night... well season 4 happened so obviously this had to happen! My perspective on Mycroft during The Final Problem. Slight Mystrade but I can never give up Anthea.

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The real Mycroft baulked at using a gun. The real Mycroft was a lukewarm mixture of hot and cold – he had emotions and they rose when he was put in a horrid situation like killing an innocent man or forcing his brother's hand.

When it had come to the incarceration of his sister Mycroft had made a decision a long time ago. He had seen the pain on his brother's face when Victor went missing, he had seen the anger in his parents when Eurus wouldn't tell them anything. He had seen the cold calculation of Uncle Rudy when it came to dealing with Eurus and he had decided that Rudy's way was the best way. Mycroft's own calculations had been nudged in the right direction by his Uncle.

"You see Mycroft, Eurus is the problem – she has caused people pain. She's upset your parents, your brother, and Victor Trevor's family. She's the reason behind this. It's why we're going to take her away." The older man had explained softly to the boy before him. Mycroft had disagreed at first – his sister was his sister and this was a matter for family, not men in white coats who prodded and poked him, who scanned his brain and that of his younger siblings.

"No."

"No?"

"No Uncle Rudy, I will always protect my family but not by you taking her away." Mycroft had been defiant at first but had stood back and watched his younger siblings. They were so close in age he had always felt left out. His mother had tutted when he tried to play their games with them.

"You're too big for that Mycroft now behave like a big boy." She had scolded him and he had withdrawn further, keeping a wary, distant on eye on the little ones.

Then Eurus had done something entirely unexpected. The burning down of his childhood home had changed it all – it hadn't changed his protective stance over his little sister but it had changed his method. Maybe Uncle Rudy had got it right. Maybe she needed to be kept, locked away for her own safety.

He followed Uncle Rudy around more, pleading with the older man to keep him in the loop about Eurus and her incarceration, promising to be quiet on the matter and unwittingly stepping into his shoes to take over the running of England as and when. All while keeping an eye on Eurus and her all too manic schemes.

Only they weren't manic – they were cold and calculated, lacking the morals even Mycroft knew he possessed, even though he often pretended otherwise. It was why he couldn't shoot David when the man had begged him too and it was why he tried to rile Sherlock up into killing him instead of John Watson. Because from the very first interference of John Watson in Sherlock's life, Mycroft knew that John would always be more important to Sherlock. Mycroft had kept his distance, analysing Sherlock as Rudy had taught him to, noting that the emotional scars of Eurus' childhood play had damaged Sherlock beyond thought – he truly believed Redbeard had been a dog and that Eurus had never existed. It baffled his mind but if there was one thing inane psychologists had repeated over and over again – children were resilient. They were tougher than people thought.

But all of that pressure came crashing down in Sherrinford, once Eurus held the control and the power. By the rites of an older sibling, Mycroft had always been used to the control – breaking up fights before Eurus almost killed them all, stopping Sherlock in his manic moments, stopping his brother getting into fights at school. All of that came with being an older brother, but Mycroft had truly had power; he'd held countries in the palms of his hands, balanced alliances as though he was spinning plates, smooth talked many an angry politician like it was child's play. He'd co-ordinated attack after attack and micromanaged so many missions, the numbers would baffle the likes of John Watson but in that moment on Sherrinford, Mycroft was utterly powerless. He could not save his brother and himself. So he would save Sherlock first.

All of that rattled through his head as he sat in the back of an estate car being driven… home? He didn't know where really. His mind wasn't really processing outside data in real time.

"Budge over." The gruff voice was a surprise to him. But the door was slamming and Greg Lestrade was sat next to him. Mycroft had always kept a watchful eye on Lestrade, the close proximity to his brother made the NSY officer a cause for concern but now Mycroft was truly baffled to the other man's presence in his car.

"What?"

"Sherlock's told me to keep an eye on you." He shrugs. "So you're gonna spend the night at mine rather than being in that draughty old house of yours."

Naturally, if along the course of his surveillance, Mycroft had interfered in Greg building up to deck Sherlock Holmes and that the older Holmes and the police officer had ended up talking and heaven forbid…socialising… together. Well that wasn't Mycroft's fault. There had been something strangely soothing about the other man's presence, even though they had very little in common.

But it helped now as Mycroft rested his head back against the leather chair and closed his eyes. For it would be Greg that shook him awake when the nightmares kicked in, when he saw David blow his brains out in the cell or when Moriarty's laughing face danced behind his eyes.

It would be a team effort between Anthea, his PA and Greg to get him inside Greg's home on the outskirts of London and the pair would take it turns to watch over him while he fitfully slept. He wanted to berate the pair of them for their over observance but when he awoke to an empty room because Greg had nipped out to use the toilet there had been a rather unsettling fear run through him.

During a changeover, when Mycroft was asleep Greg snagged Anthea in the hallway.

"Have you ever seen him like this?" He asked, running a hand over his stubble covered jaw.

"Never." The brunette looked worriedly at the closed door. "His work has never bothered him before." She shrugs.

"Has he ever seen anyone die though?"

"I don't know." She sighs. "I don't think he's ever been so close to his own handiwork. Not even James Moriarty caused this to him." She chews her lip and Greg shakes his head.

"I think we're seeing the real Mycroft Holmes."

"I hope he can cope with the weakness."

The pair change shifts and Greg slips into the spare bedroom, to sleep on the blow up bed Anthea had brought with her. To watch over his charge and know that Mycroft Holmes would never really be the same again.


End file.
